Lunatic.
That was the only word echoing in the minds of the two gang leaders inside the warehouse—the burly Russian Ross lieutenant and the frozen meat warehouse boss known as Curry.
At first, they thought Robert was just a ruthless man. A cold, hard threat-toting madman strapping himself with bombs to force a negotiation? Sure, that's been done before.
But now?
Now they realized he wasn't just dangerous—he was unpredictable.
A true madman doesn't bluff about a heart-rate-sensitive bomb.
A true madman doesn't walk in with a smile, lock himself inside a room full of gangsters, and sip coffee while talking about his homemade detonation system like it was a pet project from Pinterest.
And above all else, a true madman?
He plays card games during a hostage standoff.
Robert glanced at the two jittery gang bosses, fingers steepled, that same polite smile on his face. The blinking red lights on the C4 wrapped around his chest flashed like Christmas decorations from hell.
"So," he said casually, "since we're all sitting down and getting along, let's keep things relaxed, yeah?"
The Russian Ross gangster, sweat pouring down his temples, forced a grin. "Right... so... now that we're calm, mind telling us what business you have barging in like this?"
Robert shrugged innocently. "No business. Just out for a walk. Passed by. Thought the place looked cozy."
The two bosses blinked.
Walked in with a bomb. Said he was just passing by.
No sane person believed that. But no one dared call him on it.
Robert waved at the group of henchmen still frozen near the pork slabs and briefcases.
"Go on, don't let me stop you. Finish the deal. Pretend I'm not here."
"Uh... the deal's already done," muttered one of the Russian enforcers.
Robert snapped his fingers. "Then do it again."
He leaned back like he was commanding his own employees.
"You over there—reinspect the pork. You—count the cash again. I want full effort, no mistakes. If I spot so much as a wrinkled bill, we're gonna have a problem."
The goons exchanged helpless glances, then looked toward their respective leaders.
The Russian boss grimaced. "Check the money."
Warehouse Curry sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Inspect the goods."
The henchmen grumbled but followed orders. Or at least, they pretended to.
After all, they knew their own product. They didn't need to double-check anything. But Robert wasn't buying the act.
He narrowed his eyes.
"You. Yeah, you," Robert barked, pointing at one of Curry's boys. "You're not even checking the pork. You just nodded at it like you smelled it. What, you got X-ray vision? You think I'm blind?"
The thug froze mid-nod.
Robert stood up abruptly, and the C4's red lights began to blink faster.
Everyone in the room hit the floor instantly.
"Whoa whoa whoa! Let's all calm down!" the Russian boss shouted, voice two octaves higher than normal.
"We can handle this," Curry added quickly, grabbing the offending goon by the collar.
In full view of Robert, he beat his own subordinate senseless. Blood spattered the concrete. The thug passed out cold, and Curry stood over him panting.
"He was probably an undercover agent," Curry said, lips twitching. "We don't tolerate betrayal."
Robert nodded approvingly.
"See? Now that's the kind of leadership I respect."
The blinking lights slowed. Everyone slowly climbed back to their feet.
No more slacking.
The henchmen inspected the pork like it was sacred treasure. They counted the money with reverence, calling out affirmations every few seconds:
"Authentic bills!"
"Crystal-clear ice pork!"
"No fake racks!"
It was the most exaggerated display of diligence any of them had ever done. And they were too scared to fake it now.
Robert returned to his seat at the metal table, brushing blood off the cards.
"Anyway, let's make the most of our quality time together. Ever heard of Fighting the Landlords?"
Curry blinked. "What the hell is that?"
"Card game. From the East. Super popular," Robert said as he shuffled the deck.
"You're... you're seriously suggesting we play cards right now?" the Russian growled.
"Yes," Robert answered cheerfully. "First one to win gets bragging rights. Losers pay a thousand dollars per round."
"That's insane," Curry muttered.
Robert tilted his head, smiling wider. "I'm sorry—did you say something?"
"Nope. Deal the cards."
...
The first round began with Robert as the landlord.
With the confidence of a seasoned card shark and two rookies sitting across from him, he absolutely wiped the floor with them.
"Boom! Bomb combo. Double score," Robert said, sweeping the cash toward him.
Curry and the Russian boss silently handed over their chips, not daring to complain.
Their minds weren't even on the game. They were watching the rest of their guys. And the door. And the C4.
Suddenly, one of the pork checkers straightened up. "Bosses! Inspection complete!"
The Russian immediately jumped up, eyes shining. "Everything's good. We're done!"
"Yes! The deal is complete!" Curry added.
Both looked at Robert, practically begging.
"You said you'd leave once the deal was over, right?" the Russian said. "We're done now. So... maybe you could leave?"
Robert stroked his chin thoughtfully.
"That's true..."
They perked up.
"But!" he continued. "We're only a few rounds into Landlords. That's hardly enough to stretch the legs."
He smiled as they both deflated.
"Let's call it twenty rounds. Full game night. If we hit twenty, then I'll leave. Until then—deal, count, inspect. Repeat. Keep yourselves busy."
The two bosses stared at him, speechless.
Their subordinates groaned.
Robert dealt the next hand.
"Come on, guys," he said with a grin. "We're building criminal trust here. And you're covering my snacks with your thousand-dollar losses. It's a win-win."
To the terrified gangsters in the room, it didn't feel like a win.
It felt like they were all playing cards with death—and the landlord was rigging the deck.
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